A/n: Thanks for all the favorites, follows and reviews, please keep them coming.

Chapter VIII

Dean stared at Sam, even with Charlie steading him on the chair, he was still swaying. His eyes were glazed and he could almost feel the effort he was putting behind keeping them focused. How much he was trying to control his wheezing. How much he was desperately trying not to worry his big brother. Sam knew he panicked. Sam was aware that sometimes, the only thing he could do to be the best possible brother was to stop adding to Dean's anxiety and let him do what was ingrained in him, the only thing that allowed him to fool himself into believing that he had any control over anything in his crappy, crappy life; taking care of his little brother.

"Hey," he said kneeling in front of his small sasquatch, and patting his knee. Sam looked at him and smiled, the love he put behind his gaze was not lost on his brother. Dean wondered how a heart can break and rejoice at the same time. "Why don't we take you to bed? We'll figure how to get Metatron while you rest a little."

Sam's smile grew sadder and his love-filled eyes overwhelmed. "Dean…" he could hear an objection coming.

"Please, for me? Let me take care of everything, take care of you." Let me feel I can take care of something, he hoped his brother heard his silent plea.

Sam eyes never left his. Those eyes could say so much, those eyes could fill him with so much self-worth. Sam always got angry at him because his self image and self value were so tied to his brother, but it was all Sam's fault really; Sam's eyes, with all that admiration, all that understanding, and all that unconditional love. He could hear Sam huff in his brain, 'don't blame me, you should value yourself for who you are, not just because I love you.

' "Ok." his brother admitted and allowed him to help him up and slowly walk with him to his bedroom. Cas, the doctor, followed them close.

"What about me?" He heard Gadreel bark as he was leaving the room.

"Charlie, can you take care of him?" Dean asked without even looking back to hear the answer.

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The ill-timed coughing fit propelled Sam into the bed, even when Dean had tried to gently ease him into it. He somehow lost the grip on his brother when his body started hacking back and forth and Sam thumped into the mattress. 'Well, better the bed than the floor', he thought, but that didn't make him feel any less guilty. Guilt was immediately overthrown by all-consuming worry as an alarming amount of blood covered his brother's palm and splattered onto Sam's bare arms, his pants, Dean's clothing, the night-table, the comforter, it seemed like everywhere.

He swallowed, forcing his panic down and pulling his most nonchalant smile. He grabbed a bunch of kleenex while he waited for the cough to subside and quickly cleaned whatever blood he could. "Here, clean yourself up," he said handing Sam the rest of the tissue paper, "red polka dots are soo last summer."

He tried to keep his face stoic as his brother's coordination failed him and was unable to aim at his own face. Sam, apparently, didn't care or didn't have enough strength to cover his panic. "It's ok, you are just tired," not wanting to embarrass or worry Sam any further, he took the tissue from his brother's hand and cleaned his face in one swift movement. He'd clean the rest of the blood later, right now, he couldn't give a rat ass about it. "You just rest a little," he continued. Sam didn't fight him when he bent down to remove his shoes or when he helped him under the blood stained comforter. He didn't need to touch his forehead to know it was fever more than exhaustion that was playing tricks with Sam's depth perception. The heat wave could be felt steaming even from out of his thick leather boots. His brother's body was on fire! "We need to get your fever down."

His brother let a soft moan, mix of pain and relief, escape as he closed his eyes, settling in bed and nodding.

He had forgotten about Cas. The angel had stayed behind him, not breathing, not making a sound, trying to give the brothers as much privacy as possible, but ready to jump in if he was needed. Once he heard Dean's statement moved towards the table full of medical supplies and grabbed the antipyretic and a bag of saline. Dean figured -with his newly acquired prowess in doctoring- he would insist on taking charge. Yet, apparently Sam wasn't the only one that knew how much he needed to take care of his brother for the sake of his own mental health, since he handed him all the supplies and went back to hiding on the sidelines. Dean hoped his eyes could express the gratitude his mouth couldn't as he grabbed the medicine the angel was offering and moved to unclamp his brother's open line.

He unclamped, checked the line, checked the bag, injected, felt Sammy's forehead, moved his damn damped bangs out of his scorching brow and Sam just laid there, without saying a word or resisting any of his ministrations in any way. His eyes were closed, a tight line enslaving his mouth. Alarm bells started shaking his gut and ringing in his ears and he didn't need to look at the hands under the covers to know they were probably drawn in a tight fist. 'Sammy is sick, you know that. He has been in pain for a while, nothing new. What did you expect?' He told myself, forcing to calm down, but it wasn't working. Big brother's gong was banging and there was nothing he could do about it. There never was. "Where does it hurt?"

The tight line didn't relinquish, no words came out of his brother's mouth. Maybe Sam hoped he would think he was asleep? Maybe he was in too much pain to answer?

"Sam!?"

"Everywhere, Dean. I just don't anymore what doesn't hurt."

"You are such a drama queen!" He joked as not to cry. "It's ok, we'll get you something. We'll make it go away." He turned to Cas. "Get me something to help him rest, would you?" He felt Sam grab his arm and turned back to him.

"No," he coughed, shaking his head.

"No what, Sam?"

"I don't want to sleep. Just sit here and talk to me." Sam's voice was so weak that it took all Dean's willpower not to walk away. He couldn't leave his brother alone in a moment like this, but the pain he was feeling was so bad he desperately wanted to escape it. It was as if someone had turned on the most powerful vacuum in the world inside his guts and was sucking all the air, all his inner organs, and leaving him empty and raw.

What was Sam talking about? "Talk about what?"

Sam opened his eyes and looked at him with those evil-begging-puppy-dog-eyes. "Anything, just talk to me."

He used his palm to close his brother's eyes again. "Just go to sleep Sam. We'll give you something to knock you down and you'll wake up in a couple of hours after Cas heals you."

Sam shook his head and was attacked by his own lungs that threaten with eating him alive as the hacking coughs bit into his body, shaking him over and over again. Dean leaned forward to help Sam sit up and allow more air into him. Blood now covered the sheets, the walls, Dean's entire body, some of it had even reached Cas on the other end of the room. Dean bit his lip until he drew blood but didn't let the words and the endless stream of curses that wanted to blast out his mouth escape.

Eventually, after what felt like forever in slow motion, the cough subsided but left Sam struggling for air. His lips turned blue and his eyes bulged out before Cas was able to rush the oxygen mask into his face.

"Go to sleep, Sammy." Dean was aware that this was probably not the time to give orders, but the words came out of his mouth just as if they would have of John Winchester's. Dean just couldn't take it any longer. He needed his little brother asleep because his heart was a torned, smashed, wet, and rusty piece of barb wire.

Sam kept his eyes opened and shook his head one more time.

"Sam, what the fuck is wrong with you? What's going on?"

Sam's hand went to the oxygen mask.

"That stays on!" John Winchester drilling sargent reappeared. "Talk through it."

"If I go to sleep, I don't know if I'll wake up. I'm trying Dean. I don't want to leave you alone, I don't want to hurt you like that. You don't deserve it. But I don't know if I can do it."

"Don't be ridiculous man. Go to sleep, you'll wake up in a couple of hours feeling all better after Cas heals you. We'll go kick Metatron's ass and get you all cured."

"Sam," Cas took a step towards the bed. "If you feel so sick, I can heal you now. I just fear I won't be strong enough to do as much good as I will be able to in three hours. I am so sorry, Sam." Cas sounded like he had somehow failed them and Dean wanted to feel sorry for him. He did, but he couldn't because all he could think about was that he wanted Sammy healed and Cas couldn't do it. "But, if you can't last a couple of hours. If there aren't any other alternatives…"

"No, man, don't be insane," Dean could feel the tears building in his sockets and wiped them out, hopefully before anyone noticed them. "You can last a couple of hours, right? Right Sam?" He knew it sounded more like a plea than a question, but he couldn't help it.

Sam's loving eyes attacked again, the barb wire in his heart stretched, and pulled, and cut, and twisted again. Sam nodded. "Don't worry, Cas." his voice sounded muffled and weak through the oxygen mask.

Dean walked to the medical supplies determined to find something to help his brother. Sam was going to sleep and then be all better, soon, very soon, he'll make sure of that. There was no reason for tears, there was no reason for fear, he just had to stick to the plan and everything was going to be ok.

When he walked back to Sam, his brother didn't fight him any more. He just looked at him, trying to express a lifetime of feelings with his eyes and Dean just begged to be smitten in the spot because he couldn't take it any longer.

"I wish Dad was here." Sam's words took him by surprised and he stopped the needle an inch from his brother's body.

He looked at Sam not knowing what to answer. His brother had loved his father, his brother had hated his father, but he seldom needed him when he was sick, usually it was Dean he wanted taking care of him. He settled for, "I miss him too."

"He would take care of you... or of me. He would find a way to control everything and you would have time to feel, to live, to run out of the room like you want to and punch something. A chance to scream and yell at how unfair all this is. You wouldn't have to be stuck here playing nurse maid and forced to bottle up everything you are feeling."

"You know I need to take care of you," he confessed.

Sam patted his hand. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Sammy?"

"For robbing you of your childhood. For putting so much pressure on you by thinking that you could solve any and all my problems, and force you to come up with solutions to them all the time. I forced you to grow up so fast, to always be strong for me, to define yourself through me. I didn't know. I didn't understand at the time. I was so little, you seemed so old. You were my big, awesome, can-do-it-all brother. I didn't know you were also a kid."

"Oh, god!" He faked outrage and disgust. He wasn't having this conversation. "Are you auditioning for days of our lives?"

"I wish I could have taken better care of you. I wish I didn't have to leave you alone. I am..." Sam's voice failed, his body went limp and those eyes that would tell his brother everything without a word, that could make Dean feel like the most important person in the universe, or like a freaking puppet unable to resist the plea in them, went lifeless and mute.

"Sam!" he screamed searching his brother's wrist for a pulse. "Sammy!" He found none and desperately moved to the carotid. "I can't find a pulse!"

Cas gently, but with inhuman strength moved him away from his brother. He didn't bother checking for signs of life and started healing. Dean behind him couldn't do anything but stare. He hated knowing that there was nothing he could do to help his brother. He dreaded relying on someone else to fix him but he also was painfully aware he was terribly flawed and there were a lot of things he couldn't do for his brother or for anyone.

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"Cas, you can barely stand right now. Are you sure you'll have enough juice to go to him and bring him back?" Dean voice accompanied Sam to consciousness. His hand felt around before opening his eyes. He was still on his bed. The bulldozer inside his head was still desperately trying to break free, his chest and lungs still burnt like hell fire, but he didn't feel like he was knocking on heavens door any more.

"I'll be ok, Dean." Cas' voice sounded closer now, to his left. He allowed his tired eyes to open and stared at the ceiling for a second as the angel continued. "I won't require very much energy and I'll have regain some of my strength in a few minutes."

Sam turned his head to see his brother sitting on the far end of his bed, talking to Charlie and Cas that were seated around the table in his room. Cas took a sip of orange juice from the glass on his hand.

"Go to who?" He asked sitting up and against the headboard.

His brother was by his side in a second. "Feeling better?"

Sam started nodding but immediately decided against it. "Yeah."

"You must still feel very unwell, I am sorry my power wasn't strong enough to heal you any further." Cas broken hearted, weak voice opened a pit of guilt in Sam's guts.

"I am still alive because of you," he looked into the angel's eyes. "Don't worry, man, you did your best. Thank you!"

Charlie had poured some orange juice and was walking towards him.

"You are not giving me any more of that horrible, nauseating medicine, right?" he asked as he took the glass that was being offered to him.

Cas shook his head and sounded defeated. "It won't do any good anymore."

The noise of Dean swallowing turned the guilt pit into the grand canyon. They all knew what that meant, Sam's body was too destroyed for the medicine to help and there was no way Cas could heal him fast enough. He drank his juice, just to do something.

Dean sighed. "That's why we need to get Metatron, like by yesterday."

He put the empty glass on his night table and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, his head hurt. "How are we gonna do that?"

Charlie grabbed the empty glass and talked while she walked back to the table to refill it. "Cas says he can probably find some angel that would tell him where he is. Then he'll puff to him and bring him back here. After that, we have to trap him in holy oil and whip him until he cracks. Easy peasy." She gave him a sarcastic wink.

Sam smiled at her and leaned against the headrest. He was getting tired by virtue of just sitting there. He heard the ticking clock. Ominous, he thought and wondered if it was counting how much time he had left. "If you are going to zap him back here, how are we going to trap him in the holy oil without trapping you in there? Don't you have to touch him to bring him back?"

"I'll move out of the way as fast as I can?" Cas proposed but it was hard to believe that could be really fast considering he seemed to have trouble even lifting the half full glass on his hand.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "No offense, Cas, but a banana slug would be faster than you right now."

"Does any of you have a better idea?" He scanned the room, looking at each one of its occupants. "That's what I thought. We need answers as soon as possible. I am aware this is not the best possible course of action, but it is the only plan I can think of."

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Dean always thought it was ironic how after all the dragging, all the preparation, all the endless pain, it was always instants that changed someone's life. The second Sam threw himself to the pit, the quick moment it took his father's heart to stop beating, the swift pulling of the hellhounds that took him to hell, practically instantaneous. So much so, that movies normally saw the necessity to play them in slow motion, to add to the drama. He hated how it only took a momentary distraction or a sequence of strange misfortunes that aligned themselves like a domino structure before falling spectacularly to send everything to hell, quite literally in his family's case. It always happened so damn fast one had no way of doing anything about it.

He didn't even know how it happened. It took Cas a second more than expected to move out of the way, it took his lighter a second try to light on… but by the time they were all aware of what happened, Metatron was already gone and Sam knees were wobbling and giving away beneath him.

"Sam! SAMMY!" He ran to his brother placing a hand on each one of his shoulders to stop him from planting forward an impaling himself even further on the angel blade that decorated his mid section. "No falling forward!" He threatened and his brother weakly nodded but still allowed his head to loll and fall on Dean's shoulder. "Let me see." He pushed back with one hand while the other went to inspect his brother's guts.

Sam tried to hunch forward and against his brother's resistance, both his hands cradling his stomach. Even if he was weak, Dean's one hand pushing back was no match for gravity and Sam's gigantor body. "Damn it! Let me see!" He hissed and fought to pry Sam's hands open. If his brother had been at his best, there would have been no way he could have moved those hands, but still now, as weak as he was, he was fighting hard against his touch. 'Crap', he thought 'Of all the people to throw the knife at! Like Sam needed to add to his pain!' He looked up for a second, he knew God had left the upstairs building, but he was still so pissed. 'Fuck you all!' He was definitely killing Metatron the next time he saw him.

Sam gave a wry laugh. "Well, at least we have another angel blade to add to our collection, you can never have enough of those."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Always finding the silver lining, little brother! I can't see Jack like this, lets get you horizontal so I can take a better look, k?" He looked up from his brother. Cas was sitting on the floor, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' He was still on the same spot where he had thrown himself to get away from Metatron and give him the space to light the holy fire, which meant he was too weak to move. He knew otherwise he would be by his side, ready to help Sam when need it. He sighed and raised an eyebrow at Charlie who nodded and rushed to their side. "Ready?"

"No, Dean…" Sam begged hunching even forward and bringing both his hands closer to the wound protectively.

"Sammy!" He scolded and pushed back with might thinking that the fastest he lay him down, the easier it was going to be on his younger brother. Charlie behind them had to use all her strength to steady the fall but they somehow manage to smoothly -though, judging by Sam's grimace, not painlessly - maneuver him down.

"Sam, hands!" He commanded, though he was much softer than his tone when his hands pried his brother's away from the wound.

Sam didn't fight him, but his whole arms shook as he moved them to his side. "I hate you," he said while panting away the pain.

"I know." That was a good sign, if Sam was bitching he wasn't all that bad. "What are you, giving birth, princess?" he teased him and inspected through the blood and knife protruding in his brother's mid-section. The wound had not gone far down the flesh and, thank... whoever he could thank, had not been near any major organ. It was not a flesh wound, but it wasn't a mortal one either, any other time he would have sailed through it with a few stitches and a couple of days in bed, but this was not any other time.

"It's not even that bad!" He caught himself reassuring everybody and remembered another time when he had said those words, another blade stuck on his brother's back and it had been that bad, it had changed his life forever. 'Shut your pie-hole, Dean.' He admonished himself. "Just a few stitches and rest and you'll be as good as new." He gave Sam a broad and, what he hoped appeared reassuring, smile and remove his outer shirt, giving it to Charlie. "Keep pressure on the wound." Charlie nodded and moved towards the youngest Winchester's mid-section. "I'll go get the suture kit. Careful with the knife, don't move it. I'll get it out when I get back."

Sam's cry when Charlie touched him was like a 9.9 earthquake in the room, everybody shook, but kept composed. He moved on top of his brother's face and placed his hand on the back of his neck. "Hang in there Sammy, I'll be right back, ok?"

Sam nodded with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Dean also closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath as he rushed towards his room. 'Sam is going to be ok, he is going to be ok,' he repeated that mantra over and over as he forced himself to move as fast as he could. 'He can't die, not out of a stupid knife wound that isn't even that bad!' He grabbed the kit and couldn't help to give himself a second. It was the neverending irony in his life that scared him, how fitting would it be that the first time Sam died was by a knife on his back and the last one would by a knife on his front? He punched the wall once, twice, three times until his knuckles bled. He pushed the tears back, he wasn't going to cry, not now, Sammy needed him. Practicing his game face in front of the mirror one time he ran back to his brother.

When he got back, Cas was seated besides his unconscious brother, his index and middle finger stuck into Sam's neck. The angel looked up at him and Dean saw something he never thought he would, tears filling Cas' eyes and bathing his face.

"No... NO, NO, Sam!" He forced his legs to go even faster and all but threw himself besides his brother's head. "Sammy!"

Sam's eyes slit open as soon as he touched him. "I am sorry, Dean. I wish...I didn't have to leave you alone. Please, try to find peace. You gave enough, brother. You sacrificed enough. Be happy, find that light at the end of the tunnel."

Dean felt a tear rolling down his face but he didn't care. "Please, please, don't leave..." He begged.

Sam nodded and let his eyes droop tiredly. "I'll stay, I'll tell the reaper to fuck off, that I am not going anywhere."

Dean shook his head and bit a sob. "And live as an angry poltergeist for the rest of eternity?"

Sam opened his eyes to look at him, again, those eyes… so much love. His brother's hand searched his and he gave into the contact. "I won't have anything to be angry about. I'll figure how to handle it." Sam wheezed and struggled for air but continued talking. "I won't leave you, but you have to try to find peace. And once your time comes, when you are old... really old... and chugging viagra as you so gracefully put it, you have to promise you'll go to heaven and stay there. Promise?"

Dean heard the unspoken words, don't stay as a ghost with me, don't doom yourself for me. He finally understood that was Sam had done when he thought Dean was in heaven, when he stopped looking for him. It hadn't been a selfish act, but a real sacrifice. He wanted Dean to be happy, even if that meant that Sam would be miserable without him. He remembered Sam had really wanted him to be happy and not look for him when he was trapped in cage. That he had looked for him when he thought he was in hell and he hadn't look for him when he thought he was in heaven. That all along, all his brother had ever wanted was for Dean to have a happy life, however or whatever that was. He, on the other hand, had never been able to survive without Sam, so he had dragged him out of heaven. And, Sam had left, for him, because he tricked him into trusting him. And Sam did, he trusted him. And now, he was again willing to sacrifice heaven for him.

"I can't let you do that Sam."

"I am sorry, D…" Sam's strength gave in and his eyes closed.

"SAM NOO! Cas, do something!"

A/N: Please, if you have a second let me know what you think. There are probably only one or two more chapters left after this.